


our light

by kindlingchild



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Pining, Road Trips, Royal True Ending (Persona 5), Slow Burn, follows the unused event where akechi is revealed to be alive and in rehab
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29154213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlingchild/pseuds/kindlingchild
Summary: Akira learns from a tabloid article that Akechi may be alive, in some rehabilitation centre in Kyoto. When he finds Akechi there, breathing and even looking some semblance of happy— his mouth moves before his brain, and he finds himself suggesting the stupidest idea he's possibly ever come up with.“Let’s go on a road trip.”(post-canon for p5r. uses the unused event where akechi is alive in a rehab centre outside of tokyo. shuake. for 2/2.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	our light

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote the first chapter in less than 24 hours and now i think i'm developing carpal tunnel AKSJDKLAJSDKLAD this fic is gonna be my love letter to p5r, and persona 5 in general. i haven't written My Own fic in awhile since i'm always doing commissions, so this was really really fun to write. happy 2/2. 
> 
> this isn't beta read but that's to be expected of me innit KHJASKLDJKLDJ
> 
> please enjoy the monstrosity i've created, and stay tuned for more to come !!

There’s a certain atmosphere in Tokyo that is unlike any other.

Akira steps out of the train, a large case of luggage in tow, and he finds himself immediately lost amongst the swarms of people. In an instant, he returns to four years ago in a situation much like the present, and he searches for the way home. He adjusts his scarf, pulling it loose from his down jacket to give himself some space to breathe. He doesn’t remember the humidifiers within Shibuya station being this hot during the last winter he spent in Tokyo— but that had also been one too many moons ago. 

His bag shifts, and suddenly Morgana is peering his head through the small hole in the opening that Akira had left unzipped so that the feline could breathe. He looks around, eyes bleary, as if he had just awoken from a nap, and when he sees the familiar sight of Shibuya 109’s brightly lit up sign, Morgana smiles.

“Feels like yesterday,” is all Morgana has to mumble for an entire year of Akira’s youth to come rushing back to him in an instant. He sees Yusuke standing beside the sign, as lanky and out of place as usual, and soon the rest of his friends are manifesting beside the artist, standing before him and smiling. They look like they are waiting for him.

Quickly, Akira shakes his head and the mirage disappears as quickly as it appeared. In its place, several Shujin High students stand in a circle by the Shibuya 109 sign, trading cards. It brings back memories of a time long forgotten. Akira forces himself to move, obeying the disapproving grunts from the several elderly folk that had shoved past him moments prior. Never a still moment within Shibuya station, not four years ago, and surely not in the present.

Eventually, after passing through the underground mall for nostalgia’s sake, Akira finds the platform that leads to Yongen-Jaya. He notes how the tracks and train itself look almost exactly the same, if not a little rustier, and he finds solace in the consistency. Upon entering the train car itself, there’s not too many people headed towards Yongen-Jaya this early in the morning— most people heading to the city centre on the JR line— and Akira considers himself lucky. He takes a seat after placing his luggage on the metal shelves above the seats, and settles his bag onto his lap, where Morgana peers out at him once more.

“Do you think they’ll look like they do in the photos they sent?” Morgana purrs as Akira gently pets his head with one hand, taking his phone out with the other. He scrolls through the Phantom Thieves chat, much less active than it had been during their schooling days— though there were occasional messages from time to time. Life took its toll on them as they each grew older, but their friendships never changed. Three months could pass, and talking to them would still feel like coming home— at least to Akira.

Akira opens the media file within the chat, and searches for the aforementioned photo. He spots one of Yusuke’s latest works, framed in a local exhibition. He spots another of Haru eating a sundae, taken by Makoto. A photo of Ryuji in a recent regional track event passes by as Akira scrolls, along with an image of a magazine with Ann featured across the cover. An image of Sumire passes by. She’s holding a golden medal while standing on a podium in a gymnastics outfit, and the medal clearly says _Sumire Yoshizawa_ when he zooms in. Finally, he finds the photo he was looking for— a selfie of Futaba and Sojiro, taken only two weeks ago. 

Futaba’s glasses have changed, now square instead of the circular frames she used to have. They resemble Akira’s own glasses, just a little. She’s wearing her Shujin uniform. She looks a little bit like Akira, in a way. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, and a small ribbon is clipped to the side of her head. She looks a lot more grown up than Akira remembers, and he cannot help the smile that stretches across his face. In a way, it is much like watching a younger sister bloom.

Sojiro looks nearly identical. His beard is still odd and pointy, and his glasses are still thin and metal-framed. His hair appears to be slightly longer, however, more of a mullet and less of the middle length hair he used to have. Age seems to be catching up to him, Akira muses, as he notices a few more wrinkles across the café owner’s forehead.

“It’ll be different seeing them in real life.” Akira switches off his phone and returns it to his pocket before turning his attention to Morgana. The announcement overhead calls for _Yongen-Jaya_ in its familiar robotic fashion, and Akira readies himself to alight the train. Morgana nods at Akira’s response, slowly slipping his head back into the bag upon hearing the announcement. Akira stands, steadying himself as the train rocks gently along the tracks, and hoists his suitcase off the shelf.

When the train doors open, he is hit with a gust of freezing wind. Akira shivers, burying his face in his scarf and forcing himself to move off the train. The wind is relentless, breezing past him even as he stands still on the train platform. It takes a moment for the shock of the cold to wear off, but when it does— Akira feels sixteen again.

There’s a faint scent of sakura in the air, as there always is, and few people are seen walking along the platform. He recognises some of the old benches along the train station as he makes his way to the gantry, the wheels of his luggage rolling steadily along the floor. He taps out of the train station and his heart guides him home, leading the way back to Leblanc with the same familiarity as four years ago. He doesn’t need a GPS, not for this, and moments later he finds himself within the streets of Yongen-Jaya.

A few of the old shops have gone missing, like the ever-closed cinema and the old resale shop where Akira had bought all of his old games, but other than that— it looks exactly the same. He navigates through the narrow streets, and in the blink of an eye, he is looking at the door to Leblanc, his reflection in its shiny glass surface. Akira examines himself in the reflection, tidying himself up before opening the door. His hair hadn’t gotten much longer over the years, considering that long hair would be a pain to maintain with curls like his, but his face had gotten slightly sharper, his eyes slightly wiser. He still wears the same glasses as his high school days— considering that they were fake.

He breathes in, shuts his eyes, and opens the door.

“Welcome home, Akira.”

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who the voice belongs to, A smile forms across his face just as naturally as it did in the train. Akira allows himself to bask in the smell of coffee and curry, just the same as his youth, before opening his eyes and facing the owner of the familiar voice.

Sojiro looks a little older than he does in the photo— perhaps Futaba had been using a filter of sorts— but otherwise, he looks identical to Akira’s Shujin days. He’s wiping the inside of a small mug with a cloth, and when he sees Akira smiling at him, he smiles back. Sojiro sets down the cup in an instant, moving from behind the counter towards the main corridor where Akira stands. He’s wearing the same clothes— pink shirt, white jeans, black apron— and Akira feels like he didn’t leave Tokyo at all.

Sojiro is the first to approach, arms outstretched as he walks towards Akira. His smile only grows into a grin as he approaches, and when his arms wrap around Akira— it feels like home, as it always has. Akira hugs back, squeezing Sojiro tightly. The warmth of the café and the hug, however, begin to get to him, and Akira pulls away before he overheats. Shedding his scarf, Sojiro watches him with a hand on his hip and a proud glow in his eyes.

“You look all grown up.” Sojiro pats Akira on the shoulder, looking directly into the younger man’s eyes. In Sojiro’s gaze, Akira sees love. It is love that Akira had gotten to experience for the first time four years ago, the same warmth being completely absent in his hometown, and it is love that has not diminished in strength despite the time that has passed. There is comfort in the intensity of a father’s everlasting love, and Akira lets the feeling sink into his heart and warm him gently— a small flame to freezing hands.

“I _am_ twenty, y’know Boss?” The nickname rolls off Akira’s tongue just as easily as before. Family truly does share an unbreakable, undefeatable bond— no matter the distance or time apart. Sojiro softens at the old nickname, and shakes his head softly while laughing to himself. Akira takes the opportunity to set his bag down onto one of the high stools. Morgana comes crawling out mere moments later, looking a little sleepy. Sojiro brightens at the sight of the cat.

“He’s still with you? That’s nice.” Sojiro pets Morgana’s head gently, “And I know you’re already twenty, it’s just weird seeing how much you’ve changed since I last saw you.”

“I know, but you’ve seen Futaba growing up all this while, haven’t you?” Akira grins. He strips off his large woolen coat, draping it over his arm as he continues to unzip some of the thinner layers of clothing beneath. Sojiro stretches out his arms, offering to hold some of Akira’s clothes, and Akira responds in kind, passing his coat to Sojiro so that he could take off some of his thinner hoodies and jackets.

“It’s not the same, she’s been here with me all this while. I haven’t seen you in four years!” Sojiro reaches for Akira’s suitcase, taking the handle and dragging it towards the staircase. Akira, arms now full of his various other layers of clothing that he had just stripped off, stops Sojiro from trying to hoist all of his belongings up by himself. Akira mumbles something along the lines of _“you’ll hurt yourself, old man”_ and Sojiro gives him a soft slap on the arm, the grin on his face betraying his actions. Akira allows Sojiro to go up the stairs first with his coat, and follows suit quickly afterwards.

The attic looks the same. It surprises Akira, almost entirely, because he had been expecting it to be a repeat of his initial move to Tokyo— dusty and cobweb-ridden. Instead, it almost looks like it had just been cleaned. The bedsheets are pristine and white, the floor appears as if it had just been polished, and there is not a single cobweb in sight.The old television is exactly where Akira had left it, and all of his plants are still alive. It seems like Akira had never left Tokyo at all.

“Surprising, huh? We cleaned it out again over the past few days to prepare for your arrival.”

_We?_

A soft creak of the wooden floorboards echoes throughout the room, and suddenly Akira is falling to the ground, a weight clinging to his back. He manages to catch himself before his face meets the floor, and in the corners of his eyes, he sees long orange strands of hair. He laughs, flipping over and attempting to push the weight off of him, but it doesn’t budge.

“I’ve caught you in my trap!” The voice behind him cries, shriller and higher-pitched than Sojiro’s. Akira struggles more in an attempt to relieve himself of the weight on his back, but when it continues to hold tight, he resorts to prying the fingers on his shoulders off. Eventually, the fingers lose their grip on his shoulders, and a figure comes tumbling to the ground beside him. Orange hair, the same as before, is spread across the ground.

“Not anymore.” Akira adjusts his glasses back into position, and when he lifts his head, he sees Futaba Sakura in all of her glory, lying on the floor beside him. She, unlike her guardian, looks exactly the same as the photo— brilliantly bright smile included. She beams at Akira, pushing her glasses up her nose before clumsily standing from the ground. Futaba offers a hand to Akira, and he takes it, her hand still much smaller than his own.

She looks different. There’s a spark in her eyes that glows brighter than before— Akira recognises it as confidence. Her smile matches the brilliance of her eyes, and she seems to glow almost ethereally, her light bouncing off the room walls and nearly blinding Akira. Her hair, instead of a ponytail, is tied back into a messy bun. Futaba isn’t much taller than she was several years ago, so she’s still wearing her signature black graphic tank top and grey sweatpants. Her glasses are, indeed, square. In their reflection, Akira sees himself.

“You look like me,” Akira smirks. Futaba takes the opportunity to punch him playfully in the arm before pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace also feels, in a multitude of ways, like coming home. This— Sojiro, Futaba, the attic, the smell of coffee and curry— is home.

“She won’t admit it, but that’s why she got frames like this,” Sojiro chuckles to himself. Futaba pulls away from the hug with a frown on her face, turning to Sojiro and pouting. The façade doesn’t last long, however, as the corners of her lips begin to curl upwards and the blush returns to her cheeks. There’s a childlike wonder in her eyes when she faces Akira again, and he sees years of maturity and wisdom hidden behind burgundy. He hopes, over the course of his indefinite stay in Tokyo, that he will get to learn of all the things that she has seen without him by her side.

“I missed you, Akira.” Her voice is softer now. Akira reaches out and places a hand atop her head, ruffling her hair gently. She leans into the touch, eyes shutting as a content smile stretches across her features and stays there. He had missed this— the feeling of family. His hometown never felt this warmth nor welcoming, and his parents always gave him cold looks. In Sojiro and Futaba’s eyes, Akira saw a fire.

“I missed you too.” He speaks with a tenderness he hasn't been able to in eons. There’s a soft mewl that rings from the staircase, and they turn to see Morgana licking one of his paws at the staircase. Her glow brightening, Futaba paces over and crouches down to meet Morgana’s level, scooping him up into her arms and giving him a tight hug. Morgana squeals at first from the sudden embrace, but quickly melts into her arms. Akira figures that he, too, must feel like he is coming home.

“It’s good to see you again, Futaba,” Morgana speaks once he is put down onto the cabinet beside the staircase railing. Futaba tucks her arms behind her back and rocks on her heels, tilting her head and giggling softly as Morgana fully takes in the sight of how much she’s grown since they last met. The feline looks proud, almost, of how far she’s come— and Akira would be wrong to argue that he, himself, felt otherwise.

Akira lets their chatter fall into the background as he takes another look around his old room. Flashes of memories come crashing back in waves— he sees the Phantom Thieves gathered around a table near the television, Ryuji arguing with Morgana once more, Yusuke eating another packet of Jagabee chips, Makoto and Haru chatting about their finals. He turns to his bed and every conversation he’s ever had with Morgana rewinds in his mind. Another turn, and he sees himself on the phone, right where he’s standing now— and he hears a voice in his ear.

_“Honestly, though… I just can’t figure you out, no matter how I try.”_

His heart sinks into his stomach in an instant. His skin grows cold at the sound of the voice— all too recognisable. It is a voice he has thought of every day for the past four years. He pushes the thought deep, deep down into the back of his mind, and focuses on the sound of his family’s voice. In the corner of his eye, he spots Morgana gazing at him, a glimmer of concern shimmering within blue eyes, but the gaze quickly dissipates as Futaba continues to share stories of her high school days.

Sojiro chimes in eventually, offering to take them all out for lunch to the same sushi place he had brought them too all those years ago. Futaba excitedly nods her head, rushing down the stairs and presumably back to the Sakura household to change into winter-appropriate clothing. Sojiro laughs to himself, shaking his head once more in a manner much like an amused father. He casts Akira a look that says _be downstairs in a bit,_ and heads down the stairs himself, leaving Akira and Morgana alone once more.

There’s a paw on his hand now, and Akira turns his head to see Morgana looking at him cautiously. No words need to be said for Akira to know what Morgana is asking— they’ve spent the past few years together, building their own sort of communication, after all.

“I’m scared.” Akira places his own hand over Morgana’s. “For… tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“What if he doesn’t want to see me, Morgana?” Akira’s fingers curl around the feline’s paw. Morgana shifts closer, rubbing the top of his head against Akira’s arm in an attempt to comfort him. It works, if only for a moment. The anxiety doesn’t leave Akira— and it hasn’t since Christmas Eve four years ago. “He hasn’t spoken to me in all these years, and probably for a reason.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He probably just feels guilty,” Morgana says, looking up at Akira, “I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. Maybe he just wanted you to leave that chapter of your life behind.”

“After what happened with Maruki?” Akira’s voice betrays his calm facade, breaking when he mentions the ex-therapist’s name. Morgana coils at the mention of the man, but quickly recovers. There were more pressing matters to attend to than thinking of that twisted world. “I thought we… I thought he—”

“Hey, don’t think about it so much right now.” Morgana’s voice is gentle, nearly cooing at Akira. It works, and Akira finds himself calming down, if only just a little bit. “We’ll only know tomorrow, so enjoy your time with Boss and Futaba right now, okay? Worrying about it now will get you nowhere.”

Slowly, he allows the memories to fade into the back of his mind. They will come back to haunt him tonight, he is sure, but he focuses on the sound of Futaba’s voice downstairs calling for him, and the feel of Morgana’s paw on his skin. For now, he is safe— he can worry about the future when the future comes.

Putting a smile on his face, as he is used to, Akira scoops Morgana onto his shoulder and paces down the stairs. The voice continues to haunt him even as he faces his family, but it has for the past four years— so he learns to ignore it the best he can, even if it echoes through his skull.

_“The more I get to know you, the more it makes me think. I wonder why that is.”_

* * *

They spend the rest of the day catching up. Akira learns of all the things Futaba has seen and learnt, and it is then that he truly realises how far she has come since finding her holed up in her room all those years ago. Sojiro’s life has been considerably less interesting than his ward’s, albeit comfortingly stable. As expected, he has been running Leblanc every day and taking care of Futaba, occasionally seeing some of the other Phantom Thieves whenever they’re free or stop by in Tokyo. Akira learns from Sojiro about the in-depth lives of the other Phantom Thieves, finding out details that they had failed to recount in their texts, and his heart aches. A hole in his heart had been carved out when he left, and slowly, he thinks, he is beginning to fill the gap once more.

The sushi tastes just as good, or perhaps even better, than Akira remembers. He figures, as he looks at Futaba and Sojiro with smiles on their faces, that it is the people he eats with that makes the food taste even better.

They spend a few hours gallivanting around Shibuya, managing to catch a random movie in the Shibuya cinema. It’s a Featherman one that Futaba’s been dying to watch for a while. Akira spends the whole movie with his heart in his stomach. Morgana sits on his lap during the duration of the film, tail brushing against Akira’s arm in an attempt to ground the man every time he begins to tremble. When the theme song begins to play, all he hears is the same voice repeating endless words in his head, and he has to shut his eyes to calm himself. Futaba, all too engrossed with the movie, fails to notice this, and Sojiro is sitting too far too see— so Morgana nuzzles himself into Akira’s stomach in a feeble attempt to ground him. It works momentarily, and Akira focuses on the warmth of Morgana’s fur for the rest of the movie.

Eventually, they return to Leblanc. The sun is setting now, and Akira is considerably calmer than he had been during the movie. They had spent a bit longer just lingering in Shibuya, visiting the old arcade and convenience stores. Akira had managed to sneak away for a bit to see Iwai, who’d been more than happy to see him. Kaoru had been polishing some airsoft guns beside Iwai, and Akira couldn’t help the smile that creeped onto his face.

Sojiro slides two plates of curry across the countertop. Akira and Futaba accept the plates earnestly, immediately digging in. The first spoon of curry tastes exactly how Akira had remembered it, and the next tastes even better. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, but he blinks them back before anybody could notice. The best years of his life had been spent sitting here, on this high stool, eating curry, drinking coffee and talking with friends he hasn’t seen in a long, long time. It hits him— at that very moment— just how much he had longed for it all.

Silently, he pictures a reality where he could have had it all. Graduating from Shujin alongside his friends, staying in Tokyo forever— living in that wonderland forever. He imagines, if he had taken Maruki’s offer, just what that supposed paradise would have been like.

It would have been a paradise where _he_ never would have disappeared, but the memories of February come rushing back to him in an instant— an immovable scowl, an undying flame behind red eyes, and a silent plea for freedom. Akira immediately waves off any conceivable notion of that oasis, and allows what could have been to fade from his mind. He chooses, instead, to focus on tomorrow, and what that could look like.

He imagines tomorrow to look happy. He imagines it to look _free,_ even. There’s a smile painted across his ideal future, and the pain, suffering and sorrow within tomorrow would be long gone. Akira thinks of his tomorrow, and his mind fills with _what ifs_ and _maybes_ , but for the first time since arriving in Tokyo, the anxiety is exciting.

Time moves too fast. All at once, it is nightfall, and Akira bids goodbye to Sojiro and Futaba as they head out the door. Locking the door as they leave, Akira flips the sign to _“closed”_ , and he feels like a teenager again. He looks into his reflection in the glass of the door, backlit by the dim lights on Leblanc’s ceiling, and he sees his sixteen year old self looking back— filled with pride and confidence that Akira no longer has the energy to carry with him. One thing, however, remains the same. He sees hope in his own eyes that reflect the glimmer in the eyes of his sixteen year old self. Akira manages a smile, and he turns away from the past, leaving it to fade into the background.

He walks upstairs, Morgana following suit. The floorboards creak beneath his weight as they always have. Once in the attic, he hastily opens his suitcase and pulls out a variety of pajamas, quickly changing into them before flopping face first onto his bed. It smells the same. There’s a dip in the mattress beside him, and when he looks up, Morgana is curled up beside him.

“You still need to pack for tomorrow, y’know. The train you booked leaves early.” Morgana reminds him, tail flicking across Akira’s nose. He grumbles, burying his face in his pillow. The anxiety bubbles in the pit of his stomach. It’s exciting yet also terrifying— it leaves Akira frozen, hands gripping the sheets until his knuckles turn white. His mind fills with the thought of hazel hair, red hair and a genuine smile. “Despite how scared you are, I know you’ve always wanted to see him again.”

“Of course I do. It’s just…” Akira flips over so that he’s lying on his back. Glasses askew, he reaches a hand up to the ceiling, and imagines the night sky overhead. The stars in his mind form a familiar smile. Akira melts at the thought. “I want him to be happy. After all this time… I really, really hope that he’s happy.”

There’s the sound of soft shuffling beside him, and suddenly Morgana is leaning into Akira’s side. Raising his head, Morgana places his chin on Akira’s stomach. It’s a gesture that he has always done, ever since Akira was a teenager, to comfort him. Akira wraps an arm around Morgana’s body, pulling his feline companion closer.

“Trust in him,” is all Morgana says, and Akira immediately relaxes. _Trust,_ he thinks, is something that was granted to him many years ago, by a boy he thought would never learn to trust anyone again. “That was his last wish to you, wasn’t it? So if there were to be any specific time for you to fulfil it, it would be right now.”

A confrontation late at night. The smell of coffee and curry wafting in the background of a quarrel. A heart breaking into two, then three, then shattering into millions of pieces. A silent plea laced among venomous words. A promise left unspoken, but wholly fulfilled. An image forever burnt into Akira’s mind. It all comes rushing back to him way too fast, and Akira closes his eyes in an attempt to block the memories out.

_“Let’s go back… to our true reality.”_

Akira falls asleep with his glasses and the lights on, a soft tune singing of a brighter future repeating in his mind. If Morgana stirs a little later in the night and uses one of Akira’s fingers to help set an alarm on his phone in order to wake up for the train the next day, well, Akira doesn’t know.

* * *

He leaves Leblanc early the next morning with only a backpack and a cat. The sun hasn’t risen yet, though he spots the beginnings of its orange glow coming up over the horizon. Silently, he walks out of Leblanc and locks the door behind him before making his way back to the train station. Yongen-Jaya station is even quieter when the sun isn’t out yet. Akira allows himself to enjoy the comfort that the silence brings, only interrupted by the screeching of the train’s wheels against the tracks as it comes to a stop before him.

Akira makes his way back to Shibuya fairly easily, the city centre’s station still surprisingly crowded even at six in the morning. He pushes his way through the hoards of people and manages to make his way over to the JR Line’s gantry, tapping in as swiftly as possible and running to catch the train headed towards Tokyo station. The JR Line’s train is considerably more packed than the train he took from Yongen-Jaya, but he supposes that’s what happens when it’s the most central train line in Tokyo.

After about half an hour, Akira manages to wrestle himself off the train and into Tokyo station. It takes him awhile to find the Shinkansen he booked— given that the usual one he takes goes back to his hometown and not to Kyoto— but eventually he manages to find it. He’s several minutes early once he’s checked in and waiting at the platform, so he takes a seat on one of the public benches and pulls out a crumpled brochure from his pocket.

It’s a brochure for a rehabilitation centre in Kyoto. Flipping through the pages, the facility looks clean and neat. There’s a relaxing aura even through the photos of the place, and Akira wonders if it looks the same in real life. A thought crosses his mind, and he pulls his phone out his pocket and scrolls through his gallery of screenshots. He eventually lands on a photo of a tabloid that he found online, mentioning the exact rehab centre pictured within the brochure. The title of the article isn’t visible in the screenshot, since Akira’s main focus had been the main image shown within the tabloid.

The photo right before the article begins is one that looks much like the foyer depicted in the brochure for the rehabilitation facility. Wooden floorboards line the bottom of the photo, and several desks and stools are seen spread across the room. In the distance, a silhouette stands still with what appears to be a broom in hand. It’s a silhouette that reminds Akira of a long time ago. Even with the title of the article absent, Akira remembers it clearly— he had almost fainted when he read it.

_Tokyo’s Missing Detective Prince Spotted at a Rehab in Kyoto?_

The train comes before Akira has any more time to think about the tabloid and all of its implications. He hurries onto the train, crushing the brochure into his pocket as he makes his way on board. He finds his seat fairly easily, considering he had entered the carriage closest to it, and he settles down within five minutes. The Shinkansen remains still as more and more patrons continue to board, and Akira spends the time trying to quell the nerves tingling beneath his skin. When no one is looking, Morgana peeks his head out from Akira’s backpack, and gives the man a small smile. It’s a minor comfort, but Akira holds onto it anyway.

He’s asleep for most of the ride in an attempt at not overthinking the severity of what he’s about to do. When he’s nudged awake by his cat, the train conductor is announcing overhead that they’ll be arriving in Kyoto in less than ten minutes. He checks his phone, about two hours have passed since the train left Tokyo station. Begrudgingly, Akira double checks all his belongings and gently pushes Morgana back into the bag, readying himself just in time as the Shinkansen comes to a stop in Kyoto station.

A rush of adrenaline hits him as he makes his way out of the station and into the streets of Kyoto. Mind still slightly weary from sleep, he manages to hail a cab from off the road and spews out the address of his Airbnb written on his phone. The ride to his Airbnb is silent, but Akira is thankful for it. Eventually, the car stops outside of an apartment building a little ways away from the city centre. Akira pulls several notes out of his wallet and hands it to the driver before stepping out of the car. He looks up at the building as he hears the taxi drive off behind him, and when he looks around, he sees several road signs. He takes note of one specific road sign— pointing him in the direction of a rehabilitation centre. Akira chooses to ignore it for now, though, as he enters the apartment building and takes a lift up to his Airbnb.

It’s a quaint little apartment— one room, complete with a single bed, small kitchen and a bathroom. Akira had only booked it for the night, with plans to leave the next day. Morgana had attempted to get him to stay in Kyoto longer, but the fear of the unknown kept Akira away, so he left it at a one night booking. He figured that he wouldn’t have much of a reason to stay, mostly since _he_ hadn’t been in contact with Akira since Maruki’s reality collapsed. Akira figured there must’ve been a reason, and he isn’t one to overstep boundaries where he isn’t welcome— at least, not anymore.

He places his backpack down beside the bed, pulling out some essentials and shoving them into the pockets of his coat. Morgana crawls out of the bag shortly after and takes his place in the middle of the bed. The cat looks up at Akira, wordlessly asking “ _are you sure you can go on your own?”,_ to which Akira nods. Morgana gives Akira a look of slight distrust that fades just as quickly as it appeared, and soon the feline is fast asleep once more. Akira paces towards the door, looking back at the apartment once more before closing the door behind him and locking it shut.

Google Maps tells him that the rehabilitation centre is only a fifteen minute walk away, so he opts to walk off his nerves. He follows the road sign that he saw after he alighted from the taxi. Along the way, he basks in the gentle winter breeze that passes him by as he strolls, and admires the way life seems to flow a little slower in Kyoto than in Tokyo. He wonders if _he_ is happier here. Akira figures the slower pace of life must’ve been a good change for _him._

He isn’t sure if he’s at the right place when he arrives. The facility seems even quieter than the photos, and despite the literal sign outside the building stating the same name written on the brochure in Akira’s hand. Slowly, cautiously— he steps towards it. A million memories come crashing over him at once, and he falters, if just for a second. His hands instantly grow clammy, and every nerve tingles violently under his skin. His heart sinks once more, and the world begins to close in on him all at once. Suddenly, he’s back in the engine room, pounding on a metal shutter that’s three inches too thick for him to ever think of piercing through.

Akira forces his eyes shut, reaching for a piece of fabric he keeps on him almost all the time. It’s in the back pocket of his jeans, and he stretches his arm beneath several layers of winter wear to reach it. Pulling the cloth out, it unveils to reveal an old black glove. He clenches it in his fist, holding it close to his chest— and like always, his breaths slow themselves and his heart mellows, returning to its usual rhythm.

He grasps the glove tighter, pushing it into his chest, and opens the door to the future.

When he opens his eyes, the centre looks almost identical to the photos. A few pieces of furniture have been shifted around— Akira assumes that the photos had been taken a while ago— but the layout and lighting of the place looks exactly like the images in the brochure. He recognises the front desk, where a man dressed in a casual business suit sits. There’s a few lounge stools to the left, and several ponds and decorative displays to the right. It’s as relaxing as the pamphlet had described— perhaps even more so. Nervously, Akira walks up to the receptionist.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?” The man seems relatively amicable, which calms Akira down just a little. Akira gazes around the room, searching for any sign of _him,_ but eventually manages the courage to ask his burning question. It is one that he has been holding within him for years.

“Hello, um— is Goro Akechi here?”

The name rolls off his tongue with a painful amount of ease. It leaves a bittersweet taste as it leaves his lips— like eating an incredibly sour candy right before drinking sugar syrup. Akira hasn’t mentioned his name in years, yet the way it seems to ever-so-smoothly roll off his tongue seems to suggest otherwise. Perhaps, in the nights he spent reciting the detective’s name like a prayer over, and over in his head— the naturality of it all had come rushing back to him at once.

The receptionist merely smiles at him, unaware of the wars raging within Akira’s mind, and presses a button on the small phone that sits on the desk. Picking up the handle of the phone, he calls Akechi’s name into the microphone, and settles it back down.

The sound of soft footsteps grows closer and closer with each passing moment. A part of Akira wishes to dash straight out of the rehabilitation centre immediately, but another, much braver, part of him freezes in place, feet stuck to the ground. He faces downwards, eyes glued to the floor— afraid of what he might see coming towards him as the footsteps grow louder.

“You call— Kurusu?”

Akira’s name is almost whispered like a prayer. He recognises the unmistakable tone of both surprise and impress laced within the voice that rings through the lobby of the rehab centre, and when Akira finally finds the courage to look up— his tomorrow stands before him in its entirety.

Akechi’s hair has long since grown past the odd shoulder-length that it was in their high school days. Hazel hair is tied back into a low ponytail that extends from the base of his head down to the middle of his shoulder blades. He undoubtedly looks older— but in the best way possible. The lines across his forehead from constant scowling, the eyebags under his eyes from sleepless nights caused by relentless nightmares, the sorrow embedded within crimson eyes— they are nowhere to be found. In many ways, Akechi seems ten times lighter than before. He looks exactly, if not miles better, than Akira could ever have imagined. The light shining in from the garden behind the foyer backlights the ex-detective, and Akechi looks ethereal. 

Here before Akira stood his future, glowing, happy and _alive._

“Akechi.”

It is undoubtedly odd saying his name again, let alone in order to address the man himself. Akechi’s mouth is left agape, and Akira can see the gears moving in his head. For a minute, Akira regrets his decision and moves to turn around— but a hand quickly wraps around his wrist before he can even begin to move. Turning his head, Akechi is holding onto his arm. There’s a smile across his face and it’s one that is wholly unfamiliar to Akira. The smile isn’t the Detective Prince’s perfect facade, or the Black Mask’s wicked grin.

It’s Goro Akechi’s smile.

“Kurusu… I can explain.” Akechi looks almost remorseful. Akira isn’t sure if he’s dreaming— or perhaps he’s still living within Maruki’s twisted reality. The man standing before him is most definitely Akechi, but it’s a version of Akechi that Akira had only ever glimpsed into. Yet, despite all that, here he was. “Come with me? Please?”

Akira, as he always has, listens to Akechi without a word. The ex-detective flashes him a small, thankful smile, and gently whisks Akira away, nodding to the receptionist as he pulls Akira out of the lobby and through a series of corridors. The rest of the rehabilitation centre looks similar to the photos as well, nicely placed decor littered around the facility. No matter where Akira stood, there was always the soft sound of gushing water in the background— he figures for a soothing effect. Akechi’s grip around his wrist still doesn’t feel real, so he focuses on the scenery. It’s pretty, like the glimpse of Kyoto he had managed to catch on the way here. Akechi fit right in.

After a few more turns, they end up in a corridor of doors. Akechi stops at the fifth one on the right, bearing the sign _202._ He unlocks the door and gestures for Akira to enter first, and Akira silently obliges. The room is small, about the size of the attic in Leblanc. A single bed sits in the corner beside a desk. Various shelves are situated opposite the bed and desk, filled with dozens of books. A carpet lays in the middle of the room as a finishing piece. It’s a simple room, yet one that unmistakably belongs to Goro Akechi.

The sound of a door shutting echoes through the room, and when Akira turns, Akechi is leaning against the door with his arms crossed. His amicable smile slowly falls into a frown, and the Akechi that Akira grew up with returns to view.

“How… How did you even find this place— find me?” Akechi’s voice, however, lacks the malice that it had been poisoned with in the days of their youth. Akira looks at Akechi a bit longer before answering, and realises that even his frown is different. Akechi is putting on a character— mimicking the way he was when they were younger. Akira can only wonder why. “I didn’t tell you I was alive for a reason, Kurusu.”

“I know, I know.” Akira forces himself to look away. He blinks back the tears forming in his eyes and tries to ignore the way his nose begins to sour. Clenching his fists glued to his legs, he looks down at the ground and tries to steady his breaths. He parts his lips to speak once more, his voice barely a whisper at the end of his sentence. “Trust me… I know.”

A sigh sounds from the other end of the room. Footsteps slowly grow louder, and suddenly Akira is enveloped in a painfully familiar, yet incredibly foreign, warmth. Akechi’s arms are wrapped around him, squeezing tightly. It takes Akira a moment to register that _Goro Akechi_ is hugging him, but when the realisation finally hits, he cannot blink back his tears any longer. Akira lets himself lean into Akechi’s embrace, burying his face in the other’s shoulder, letting his tears fall and soak into the fabric of Akechi’s shirt. They fall, and fall, and fall— and Akechi holds him softly as he leaks the liquid sorrow that had been building up within him for the past four years.

Akira isn’t sure how much time has passed when he stops crying, but Akechi is still holding him gently. When he pulls away, Akechi is looking at him strangely. It’s a gaze Akira doesn’t recognise— a shimmer of something almost resembling remorse hidden behind red eyes. Akechi is the first to break the silence.

“I didn’t reach out to you because I knew you’d do something foolish like this.” Akechi’s voice is right beside Akira’s ear, and Akira melts into the hug. “You needed to move on from everything that happened.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Akira pushes Akechi away. A scowl forms across his face. Something much like anger begins to bubble at the back of his throat. “What happened to making our own reality? Paving our own paths? I almost kept Maruki’s reality because of _you,_ and when you learn that you’re still alive after that reality has been crushed, you don’t even… bother telling me?”

As expected, Akechi’s expression hardens almost instantly. They’re falling back into their rhythm of harsh banter too easily. Akira ignores the flutter and the fear that pangs in his chest.

“You thought I was dead. _I_ thought I was dead. When I woke up in Shibuya, I didn’t know what to do,” Akechi frowns. “For once in my life I had no obligations, no revenge to seek— no goal. So I just…” 

The ex-detective’s voice fades slowly. His expression morphs into something even more unreadable than before. A part of Akira wants to reach out and smooth the lines creasing in between Akechi’s brows, but he doesn’t.

“I listened.” Akechi looks straight at Akira as he says this, crimson eyes glimmering as the sunlight from the room’s only window seems to hit Akechi’s face at all the right angles. The _“to you”_ that follows his words doesn’t need to be spoken for Akira to understand what Akechi is trying to say. There were always things left unspoken between the two of them— but that never meant that they did not understand each other through and through.

“Is this… Is this okay then? That I’m here. That I’m…” _coming back into your life. That I want you back in mine, more than anything I’ve ever wanted._

“I suppose.” Akechi turns away. If a soft rose dusts itself across his cheeks, Akira doesn’t notice— far too occupied in thinking of his next response. Akechi speaks before Akira can fill the silence. “I came here because my mother came here when I was a child. Before she… well.”

The pieces fall into place, and Akira finds himself finally understanding. When he looks at Akechi, he no longer sees a broken boy, fueled by revenge and bloodlust. He sees a man slowly trying to piece himself back together, fragment by fragment.

“I came here on Christmas Eve that year, and have been here since.” Akechi speaks, voice quiet. Akira admires him in all of his glory as he attempts to find the right words. “I was in their programme initially, but after finishing it I had nowhere to go, so I stuck around to work for them. In exchange, they give me a place to stay, things to do, food to eat.”

“I’m…” _proud of you,_ he wants to say, but he stops himself. That would be far too forward. He had just gotten Akechi back— he didn’t want to chase him away so soon. Instead, Akira opts to nod quietly. Akechi casts Akira a look, an eyebrow raised with an inquisitive look in his eye, and Akira hears the questions that Akechi is asking him.

“I don’t know.” He responds. Akechi looks like he almost doesn’t believe him— almost. “I just— I saw your silhouette in this tabloid rumouring that you were alive, and Morgana tried to convince me for weeks not to come but I just… I couldn’t sleep properly without knowing whether it was true.”

A soft chuckle escapes Akechi. Akira musters the courage to look at the ex-detective head on once more. Akechi’s smile seems looser than before, eyes shut as he laughs to himself. He almost looks like he’s breathing easier. A part of Akira relaxes at the sight. Akechi’s eyes open a moment after, and it is like staring into a different universe entirely.

“After all these years, I still can’t figure you out,” Akechi muses, leaning his weight onto one leg and crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time that afternoon, he’s not acting confrontational. In fact, Akechi seems _happy._ Akira thinks he’s dreaming. “It’s nice to see you again, Kurusu.”

Akira has to do a double take. _It was nice to see him again?_ He’s convinced he’s dreaming. His bewilderment must show on his face, because Akechi continues his laughter from just now. 

“Is it that hard to believe that I somewhat enjoyed your company all those years ago?” Akechi brushes past Akira as he makes his way over to the bed. He sits down on the mattress and the springs creak beneath his weight. Akira turns to face him. Akechi looks at peace. It is an angelic sight— one that Akira thought he would never, ever, get to see. “You were one of the only people I ever considered a…”

The word fades as it reaches the edge of Akechi’s tongue. Akira is relatively sure of the word that the ex-detective was about to utter, but he supposes that rehab can only fix so much. Some healing, or perhaps even most, had to be done alone, with time. Four years simply isn’t enough to heal all the scars that had marked Akechi over the years— but it had healed many of them.

“Is this all you came for?” Akechi’s tone grows mildly apprehensive. “To see if I’m alive? Or were you going to ask how I’m doing? What exactly did you come here for, Kurusu?”

Akira falters. What _did_ he come here for? Akechi is alive, breathing and possibly even happy. Akira’s presence may just be an unwelcome reminder of the past. His chest begins to constrict, heart pounding against his ribcage as a vignette begins to grow around the edges of his vision. Akechi seems to grow further and further away with every passing second. _It’s happening again,_ his own voice reverberates through his skull, _this is what Morgana was worried about._ His mind turns to sludge, and years of self-doubt and fear come washing over him. In an instant, he is drowning.

A thought suddenly comes to mind amongst the fog of uncertainty. He isn’t sure if it’s a good one— or even a mildly decent one— but he runs with it anyway. 

“Let’s go on a road trip.”

_What?_

“It’ll be fun! We haven’t seen each other in so long. We could travel around Japan and catch up!”

_What in the world?_

Akira cannot help the anxious chatter that spills out of his mouth. There’s a panic in his eyes and a furrow in his brow as he speaks, but the adrenaline of his anxiety forces a grin on his face. Akechi looks taken aback. The ex-detective gives Akira what can only be described as an incredulous look, both eyebrows raised now, eyes widened. Akira readies himself for rejection.

“I don’t… I don’t know, Kurusu. I’ve worked here for a while and to leave it all behind so suddenly… It’s a rather outlandish suggestion.”

Any remnants of hope that Akira had foolishly clung onto immediately shatters. He isn’t sure why he bothered hoping, knowing how ridiculous his suggestion is, but Akechi had always had that effect on him. His skin tingles once more, nervously, and he can only press his lips into a thin line and force another smile across his face. Tucking his arms behind his back, Akira breathes in, out, and blinks back his tears again. It’s a routine he has gotten painfully used to.

“It’s okay.” Akira laughs in an attempt to hide the lump forming in his throat. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow anyway. I only booked my Airbnb for the night.”

“Wait, you’re only staying here for a day?” Akechi stumbles as he stands from the bed, moving closer to Akira. Akira forces himself to take a step back. “I thought since you travelled all the way that you’d…”

“I didn’t know whether you’d want me around. I didn’t want to cause you any trouble. I just booked a room at an apartment down the street for tonight. I’ll be gone tomorrow, back to Tokyo.” Akira can’t bring himself to look at Akechi, not right now. Perhaps not even for a while— if there were to be another opportunity to look at the ex-detective during a conversation like this. “My presence is more unwelcome in places rather than welcomed with open arms.”

Akechi goes silent. There’s an uncomfortable tension in the air now. Akira forces himself to move.

“Anyway, um, it was nice seeing you again.” His voice is breaking. He hurries to the door. He doesn’t hear Akechi moving behind him. It was over. “You seem happy. I’m glad.”

A part of him aches to turn around. Another yells at him to go. That voice is louder, so he opens the door and takes a step out of the room with his eyes still glued to the ground.

“Goodbye, Akechi.”

Akira shuts the door softly behind him— and then he runs. He runs out the corridor, past all the twists and turns of the rehab centre, and out the lobby, ignoring the cries of the receptionist. He runs back down the street towards the apartment building he came from. The sun is setting, orange rays shining over the horizon, and it’s snowing. It almost feels like escaping from a castle— except his surroundings won’t disappear once he reaches his Airbnb. Instead, as he slams the door to his rented apartment open, startling Morgana in the process, he crumbles to the floor at the entrance.

Morgana is calling his name— or at least he thinks so, he hears it in the distance but everything is foggy and the world is spinning. Something brushes past him, clawing at him, and he assumes it's Morgana. He can’t quite feel the cat’s touch. His skin is numb. The world is too cold. Everything is spinning, He feels nauseous. His brain feels heavy. He can’t quite breathe. Akira thinks he may be dying.

His vision slowly grows black, and he feels his head hit something cold. In the darkness, he sees red.

* * *

Akira awakes the next day with a headache.

He sits up, groggy. His back aches slightly, and his neck hurts when he twists it in a certain direction. He supposes that’s what he gets for passing out on the floor. Morgana is asleep beside him, but the cat stirs when Akira moves. Blue eyes flicker open slowly, then in an instant once Morgana realises that Akira is awake.

“It happened again.” Morgana crawls into Akira’s lap, pawing at his chest. His claws never tear the fabric of Akira’s shirt, but his touch reaches Akira’s chest through his shirt. It usually helps in calming Akira down. This time is no different. The touch grounds Akira, and he sighs, massaging his temples. It feels like a hangover, but the irony is that he hadn’t drank a lick of alcohol. These panic attacks— if he could even call them that without a professional diagnosis— had been happening since he returned home four years ago. His parents did not care, as he had expected.

“I messed up.” Akira swallows the familiar lump in his throat. He clenches at the fabric of his jeans, knuckles turning paper white. His voice is raspy and hoarse, barely a whisper. “I messed up so bad, Morgana.”

The feline remains silent. Akira cannot blame him for not knowing what to say. A sudden realisation hits him, and he quickly palms his pockets for his phone.

“What time is it? We need to leave.”

“Don’t worry, I had an alarm set after you passed out. It hasn’t rung yet.” Morgana motions to Akira’s phone laying on the floor a few feet away from them. The cat walks over to it, tail swishing as he paces, and he presses the home button. Akira cranes his neck to see the screen. It is only eight in the morning. Their train is scheduled to arrive at ten in the morning, and leave five minutes after. 

“What would I do without you?” Akira wipes his eyes, removing any dirt that had built up in the corners over the night of crying and sleeping on the ground. Morgana rubs himself against the length of Akira’s thigh, purring softly. “Thank you.”

“You’d be fine, silly.” Morgana turns to look at Akira once he’s finished rubbing himself against Akira’s thigh. It’s a comforting gesture— one that Akira has come to find rather endearing. “You don’t have to talk about what happened yesterday. Let’s just go home, okay?”

Akira nods wordlessly. He bears the various aches across his body as he stands and moves to get ready for the journey back home. Taking out a fresh outfit from his backpack, he lays it onto the bed before grabbing his bag of toiletries and walking to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, takes a hasty shower and slips into the clothes he prepared all within fifteen minutes. After layering his winter wear, he shoves all of his belongings back into his backpack, leaving space for Morgana to crawl in and settle.

He’s about to leave, checking the room one last time, when the doorbell rings. Akira figures that it’s the owner of the Airbnb, or perhaps the manager of the apartment building. He opens the door without a second thought. Akira almost faints for the second time within twenty four hours when he sees who’s behind it.

Goro Akechi stands in his doorway with a suitcase beside him.

“Let’s make up for lost time, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: kitaguwu
> 
> more to come x thank you for reading. kudos & comments always appreciated :^) !!


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